Twelve weeks after it welcomed us into its period-specific parlour, we have now bid bye-bye to the nicest series on TV. Oh, Edwardian Farm. How will we cope without your warm smile, your jaunty cotton neckerchief and your ability to remain straight-faced when an academic in a bowler is teaching you how to wassail an apple tree?

Having weathered the soil-based tribulations of Victorian Farm, archeologists Peter Ginn and Alex Langlands and historian Ruth Goodman returned as pretend early 20th century agriculturalists. Morwellham Quay – the former port in Devon that has been home to the series – has thrummed with industriousness. Against a backdrop thick with rolling hills and indifferent sheep, the trio have fossicked, scrubbed, sown and ploughed. They've pressed cider and oiled sows. They've mined for copper, constructed a fish hatchery and mumbled politely at the prospect of Ruth's sheep's head stew. Most impressive of all, however, was their cultivation of a world wholly unbesmirched by the conventions of modern television.

We had no orchestrated controversies or knowing asides. No slamming pantry doors, bleep-ridden sty storm-outs or wobble-shots of Alex as he stropped off to the lower field after an altercation with a shirehorse. There was no "journey". Nobody gave it 110%. We know nothing about our heroes' private lives and, really, that's fine because – enthusiastic and charming though they have been – Edwardian Farm wasn't about them. It was about celebrating the hard work, craftsmanship and indefatigable patience of those whose lives are otherwise relegated to the history book and costume drama.

The series ended on a fittingly bittersweet note. As our hosts unknotted their neckerchiefs and folded their waistcoats there came a lament for the hundreds of thousands of horses that died in the Great War – their loss effectively signalling the end of the golden age of British agriculture. "Oh well, onwards and upwards," sighed a tearful Pete as he, Alex and Ruth linked arms and walked away from Morwellham Quay, their hobnailed boots clopping along the damp Devonshire cobbles one last time.

At that point, you may have utilised the lace handkerchief you crafted after learning how to weave in episode five.

But is this really goodbye-ee? The success of the series (ratings have hovered between 2.3 and 2.8 million) suggests the barn door remains open for further period-specific rural adventures. And why not? A format this rewarding is too good to leave rusting by the riverbank. So where next for the have-a-go historians? 1950s Farm (an ode to the days before factory farming moved in and painted the countryside grey)? Tudor Farm (smallpox and Lutheranism)? Neolithic Farm (flint and grunting)? The past is their oyster.

Have you enjoyed the series? Any favourite moments you'd like to share? Your Farm-related thoughts below, if you'd be so kind.